


How Tony Stark Ruins Everything

by aslipperysloth



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drama, First Date, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslipperysloth/pseuds/aslipperysloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Tony Stark manages to ruin sex, dating, and friendship - in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alphera on LJ, who is the most amazing person in the entire world. I could not be more grateful to have such a skilled beta and exceptionally kind friend. Any mistakes leftover are entirely my own. Also thanks to shariangel on LJ for the read-through.

There’s really no sugarcoating it –Tony Stark is the biggest fuck up in the history of time. _Of course_ he would ruin everything. All this does is prove yet again that Howard knew what he was talking about – Tony doesn’t deserve to have nice things.  
  
As the spot beside him in bed rapidly cools beneath his hand while the filters clear the air of heat and the smell of desire, Tony finds himself faced with two options.  
  
1) Stay in bed until morning and pretend none of this ever happened. Or,  
2) Retreat to the kitchen, where he has a bottle of Glenfiddich 40-year-old Scotch whisky waiting for him. Calling to him, more like, as it does whenever _anything_ goes wrong in Tony’s life, which these days is pretty much a 24/7 thing.  
  
Actually, there is a third option, but he really doesn't want to do it. He _really_ doesn’t. It involves talking, and Tony’s not quite prepared for that, not now and not ever.  
  
In the end, surprise of surprises, he chooses option two, hair of the dog, but that does mean he has to pass the TV room, and what do you know – Steve is there. Still there, sitting awkwardly on the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace in Tony’s custom-made Dior dressing gown, looking not at all devirginized as per plan.  
  
It’s totally not how he imagined Steve would look ‘the morning after’.  
  
Should he have had a plan other than just bedding the guy? Some hastily thought out strategy of approach at least? He should have certainly been more thoughtful without one. From his vantage point behind Steve, he can see the remnants of a bite mark just below where the now messy blond hair meets the powerful neck, and…yeah when he thinks about it he probably could have been a bit gentler, even with the whole super-healing thing. Not exactly the best way to introduce a senior citizen to twenty-first century moral depravity and the delights thereof.  
  
Tony stands at the entrance to the room for a moment, but he knows he’s not going to be able to sneak past. So he just goes for it.  
  
“JARVIS, lights at thirty percent.” Startled blue eyes turn to meet his. In fact the man’s whole body is tense, like just before a fight, as if he’s not even sure if he has the right to sit on the fancy leather cushions. ‘This is all your fault, Tony, you idiot,’ he thinks, ‘How could you make Captain fucking America feel like he can’t sit on your couch?’ Steve shouldn’t ever have to feel that way.  
  
“Do you want me to go?” the man asks, softly. Tony cringes, half at the question and half at the burgeoning pounding in his head. Cap leaving is the last thing he wants. But he also wants his cold glass of whisky in his hand, to be honest.  
  
“Naw,” he mumbles. “At least try to get a good night’s sleep. Good American boys should get their eight hours, right?” Then he remembers the time. “Well, three hours is better than nothing.” Steve’s sets his mouth in a firm line as Tony smacks his palm to his forehead. “All right, look, I’m not gonna kick you out like you’re some…” investor, intern, escort, actor, Vanity Fair reporter, “I mean, you can sleep. Or do whatever. JARVIS, put some tea on or something-”  
  
“No, Tony, it’s fine.”  
  
“No, it’s not, I-” Well, actually his brain is coming up blank. Steve looks at him like he’s waiting for the explanation, but when it doesn’t come the Captain turns away again.  
  
“I'm going to go,” he says.  
  
“Please don’t.” At first he doesn’t realize that he’s actually said it out loud. Since when do Starks say please? “Look, I’ve got CSI and Grey’s Anatomy recorded somewhere, JARVIS can help you find it.”  
  
“I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Err, _today_ , I guess. Just let me find my clothes and you can have your really comfortable robe back.”  
  
“What was it?” Slowly Tony’s coming to the startling realization that somehow he’s now on the opposite end of his usual morning after talk. It’s starting to feel like in a few minutes Pepper’s going to come in and give him his dry-cleaning and a taxi voucher, and possibly security if he gets really uppity. “Was it the blue and red bedsheets? Completely coincidental, by the way.”  
  
“I just wasn’t comfortable,” Steve explains, just bluntly enough for Tony to get it. _It’s not you, it’s me._ “It was too fast for me.”  
  
Okay, too fast. Back up.  
  
Let’s start from the beginning.  
  
*  
  
Tony Stark and Steve Rogers aren't friends. Steve wakes up from his sleep, has his brief flip out, and Tony just happens to be one of the first people Fury decides to call in about this. God knows why; Tony knows full well that S.H.I.E.L.D. has proper psychologists for this sort of thing. He’s been ordered to see them more times than he can count.  
  
The likeliest reason is because he is already in New York, at Stark tower, trying to work for once. It could also be partly because Coulson found the prototype shield in his workshop and caught on to the fact that he used to be the biggest Captain America fan in the world, or quite possibly the universe, now that he’s met actual aliens and can compare these things. Also maybe because they tried Sharon, and it didn’t work out so well for one reason or another, so they decided Tony was the next best thing. Because, you know, he looks more like his dad than his mom.  
  
He doesn’t want to think about that reason.  
  
Thing is, Tony doesn’t really want to meet Steven Rogers. Nobody should ever meet their idol – it ruins that idealistic image. But, as it turns out, Mr. Steven-call-me-Steve seems to actually be as good as the packaging would indicate. Seriously, there’s nothing bad about him at all. What’s _up_ with that? It’s like some kind of freaky Dorian Gray business. There’s got to be something damning to be found deep down under the layers of blond-haired, blue-eyed perfection. Even Gandhi had his racist past and he’s heard Mother Teresa stole some money or something.  
  
But no, it turns out there’s not a single mark on this guy’s squeaky-clean record, other than lying on enlistment forms to get into the army. The man lied just so he could go abroad and get shot at. Who _does_ that?  
  
“They say I’m supposed to talk to you. You can tell me things?” is the first thing Steve says to him, before “Peggy? Agent Peggy Carter?” like he already knows the answer and he’s just hiding his heartbreak. Then he asks, “Howard?” and _goddammit_ , both of those things feel like a punch to the arc reactor for some reason.  
  
He’s got to hand it to Steve – the man’s pretty brave. It’s obvious that he tries to hang on to his dignity for as long as possible, and the struggle is obvious on his face. All SHIELD’s really done is stuff the soldier into a 1940s themed hotel room and hand him back his shield, like it will cure all ills (the past seven decades that he’s missed, for example). Then they expect Tony to take care of the rest. He’d probably break down too if he was in Steve’s position. In Afghanistan, Tony hadn’t had more than one or two people to care about back home, but this guy, he’s heard, cares about everybody. He can’t even begin to imagine.  
  
So many people have cried in front of Tony, admittedly mostly one-night stands, but the sight has rarely affected him. Now he feels…responsibility. Sadness, maybe. And to be completely honest, lust. Tony’s not a good person.  
  
“Hey, we still need you, man. We need some backup singers in the boy band.”  
  
That’s the start of their relationship. Tears. Always a good sign.  
  
They both join the Avengers. Only one of them is on probationary status. Tony’s teenage wank-bait unfortunately does not react well to his attitude, but they both have the unresolved tension thing down pat. They argue. A lot.  
  
Yet their first day as a team they take down Loki, of all people, and afterwards Steve admits that Tony maybe isn’t so bad. So Tony insists that they all celebrate their victory ‘Stark-style’, since it’s something none of them have likely ever experienced in their lives, not even the Prince of Asgard. They go to his favourite club, which becomes VIP exclusive the moment Tony and his limo of superheroes pulls up. There are strippers. He gets a bit drunk – they all do, minus Steve and Thor. Thor because he can’t on pathetic Midgard alcohol, and Steve because his hands are permanently rooted nervously in his lap. The Captain’s so embarrassed that he actually pretends to draw on a napkin whenever someone’s top comes off, looking red enough to spontaneously combust into Johnny Storm at any moment. Dr. Banner and Romanoff dance on stage with the pros like they’ve died and gone to heaven, while Steve looks like a victim straight out of a school documentary about the evils of peer pressure.  
  
Looking back on it, Tony could have introduced him to modern society a little more slowly.  
  
Looking back on it, it was Steve’s first night with new friends and a new job and a new life, and he was probably lonely as hell, so maybe it wasn’t entirely okay for Tony to bring him back to his place at the end of the party. But he was just trying to help, not trying to take advantage of anyone. Honestly.  
  
No wonder Steve fled Tony’s bed the moment things got a little out of hand. But what did he expect, a sleepover where they watched cartoons wearing Iron Man pyjamas?  
  
Anyway, the lust thing, that’s obviously a no go. So he tries for friendship instead. Essentially he’s working backwards. Or maybe it is the natural order of things for lust to be the first thing to appear in a relationship. It wasn't that way with Pepper, but with Tony’s limited experience of proper relationships, he can’t really assume anything.  
  
To cultivate this friendship, Tony starts showing Steve all the new things he can possibly think of. Basically, doing the actual job requested of him.  
  
So he brings Steve to California as much as possible.  
  
Tony loves it. People tend to believe that the only thing Tony loves is attention, but he loves so much more than that. He loves the expression on Steve’s face – somewhere between awe and idolization – when Tony babbles on about his work. He loves watching Steve play around with the holographic projections in his workshop like they’re little pieces of art, even if the big guy doesn’t actually understand the science behind them. He even, and this is a bit of a secret, he even loves watching Steve play catch with a Dummy that misses ninety percent of the time like a developmentally-challenged dog.  
  
The best part of it all is that Steve looks at him like _he’s_ special, not the Stark space tourism prototypes or the two degrees (“Were you really seventeen? I can’t imagine. Did you get to have any fun?”) or the Time magazine covers.  
  
Strangely Tony starts to miss him when he’s not there.  
  
But it’s not just about Tony. He also enjoys giving Steve free run of Wikipedia and later Google with the safesearch off (“I-I really thought watersports was something else, um, how do you go back again?”), teaching him how to use the StarkPhone to add all the Avengers to his contact list and to even take pictures (there are twenty of Thor making stupid faces, about ten of his coffeemaker, and five of Dummy – he’s looked). He teaches Steve how to use email and shortly thereafter expounds that one should never click on attachments unless one is one hundred percent sure they are safe, and especially not if they’re from Clint. (Steve needs to learn about current affairs, not the last fifty years of Playboy, Hawkeye, you dick.)  
  
Steve takes to everything like Tony imagines he probably took to his new body back when he got it – in stride.  
  
This information exchange doesn’t only go one way, either. Tony learns lots of…things. Well, okay, so he can’t remember a lot of them. But he knows that Steve likes swing music and old stuff. Lots of old stuff. There’s even a bit of archaic slang in his brain now, like ‘bobby soxers’ and ‘hotsy-totsy’. He learns that there was a time when people used to actually be able to call someone a fat-head with a straight face, and that they could (and still can, Steve hasn’t actually stopped) call almost anything that is not a criminal or supervillain ‘swell’.  
  
It’s good to have a third person he can count in his list of friends. Because, um, well just because. Sadly, this is not to say that the sexual tension goes away. Oh no, it only gets worse. With Steve offering to train him whenever he’s in New York, all tight white shirts and sweatiness and throwing him all over the place, how could it _not_?  
  
There’s even a bit of lust reflected back at him from the prim and proper face, and he wonders if Steve even realizes it’s there. Tony’s sure the good soldier’s never going to act on it, so Tony’s the one who’s going to have to be the liberated modern man. But he’s already screwed it up once, so he holds himself back from asking.  
  
They don't actually talk about what happened that first night as Avengers until months later, when Steve approaches him in private after a team meeting with an awkward, “Hey. I guess I’ve never thanked you properly for helping me out.” Then he looks around as if he's forgotten that what he’s about to ask for is no longer illegal. “Also I…I was wondering if you'd like to try again.”  
  
“Maybe,” he replies cheekily, with no small amount of inner glee that he didn’t have to be the one to make the first move. The sheepish golden boy smile returns and at the sight of it Tony’s boner returns in full force, quite literally.  
  
That long story short, he’s not going to mess it up again.  
  
*  
  
“I hear we have vacation coming up. Did you see the memo? I didn’t even think we had vacation time,” Tony overhears Bruce telling Steve after the meeting. The man sounds positively ecstatic, or at least as ecstatic as someone high on downers can sound. “Anything you want to do? I recommend visiting Tibet.” A travel brochure changes hands and Steve thanks the doctor graciously. “Once, I did a meditation retreat in the mountains there and it really helped me connect to inner serenity.” ‘Sure it did,’ Tony thinks. ‘You only destroyed three walls today, real poster boy for Buddhism.’  
  
“We could go to a strip club again. That was a good night, anyone remember that?” Clint reminisces.  
  
“All too well.” _Ouch, Steve._ “I was thinking of going to California,” he continues, briefly glancing at Tony questioningly. Actually they haven’t really discussed anything yet, but Tony’s always open to negotiation (at least where Steve is concerned).  
  
“Always California,” Thor adds his booming voice to discussion. “What is there that holds your heart, my friend? Have you found your own Jane?” Steve blushes, and it looks so goddamn adorable. How can he still do that after the super-soldier serum? “I do not blame you. I too am weak to these mortal pleasures. Last week I spent hours with my head buried between my sweet Jane’s-”  
  
“Pop Tarts?” Coulson offers from the leftovers. Good old Coulson. Always knows how to shut someone up.  
  
“Well, Natasha, she-” Steve looks around but she’s already gone, as usual, “she told me about Disneyland. I might go there,” he says, not entirely genuinely. He’s not a very good liar.  
  
“Disneyworld is better,” Tony interrupts. “I could buy it. Want me to buy it?”  
  
“I think it’s a bit big for me,” Steve jokes.  
  
And just like that Tony’s thoughts sink into the gutter, and his sunglasses slip down a bit further on his face.  
  
“Just make sure it’s within S.H.I.E.L.D. budget, whatever you do,” Coulson says, slipping annoyingly into his line of sight to Steve’s ass in order to grab all the doughnuts. Man, why do they have so much food at meetings? This is all Thor’s fault.  
  
“Who do you think I am?” Tony asks. “You think I’d let a good friend coming to Malibu pay for anything?” Well, Steve didn’t exactly say he was going to Malibu, but their entire relationship seems to be based on things unspoken. Maybe that’s not a good sign.  
  
Bruce moves closer to put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, and while he doesn’t say anything, his look says, ‘I see, you’re the one stuck hanging out with the asshole this summer, good luck,’ and Tony makes a mental note to call Banner’s chamomile tea factory and get them to caffeinate the teabags.  
  
Eventually they’re left behind in the room, just the two of them, and Steve walks up to him and says, “I guess I should have asked. I mean we only have four days, provided Loki doesn’t decide to rally all those wild horses to do his evil bidding again, so I thought maybe we could spend it together.”  
  
“Yeah, no problem.”  
  
“I’ve got an interview with the Brooklyn Historical Society on Monday, and then I have to do the usual weekly reading at the elementary school, but I should be able to come out on Tuesday. Are you free?”  
  
“For you?” he smiles his best winning smile. “Always.” Pepper’s going to kill him.  
  
“Then, it’s a date.”  
  
Date.  
  
 _Date._  
  
*  
  
“A date. Seriously, Dummy, can you believe this?” he asks when he’s rearranging the walls with a sledgehammer yet again simply because he wants to be able to see the sofa from the bedroom just in case he doesn’t get Steve into bed in the first couple of days and the prude happens to end up there because it’s ‘respectable’. “What do people even do on dates? What do I wear on a date?” Dummy perks up and drops his hoodie from the grand piano to the floor. Like father like son. Normal clothes aren’t a bad idea.  
  
Soon he hears the elegant click of designer shoes on marble and some very talented screeching. “ _What are you doing?_ ”  
  
“Small redesign. I want this wall gone – can I get this wall gone? Hey could you get me that crew who did the workout room? It’s a rush job.”  
  
“No! No I can’t. And you cannot just take three days off! Do you know how many events you’re scheduled for this week?” He just hands Pepper his extra pair of safety glasses in return and kneels to brush aside some of the debris.  
  
“What are you talking about? I do it all the time.”  
  
“Tony-”  
  
“By the way, did you get me that Vogue cover?”  
  
“They're not going to put you on the cover-”  
  
“I said I'd do it for free. I'll even take off my shirt.”  
  
“Tony, this is important.”  
  
“Okay, I'll take Rolling Stone again. It’s just a shame to waste this summer tan-”  
  
“Tony!”  
  
“Pepper,” he looks at her, just for a minute, to admire her impeccable makeup and bright hair pulled back into an elegant bun. She’s beautiful. Good lord, he’s given her frown lines. “Just handle it this time, for me? It’s Steve. Divide up the labour, hire some paper pushers for a week, call a few temp agencies, anything.”  
  
“I already did all of those things,” she says, with an air of defeat. “But I’m still upset with you.”  
  
“Duly noted.”  
  
“So I came to see you because I'm booking Captain Rogers' flight over here, because you personally requested that I do it myself so that it’s perfect even though I have much better things to do like run your company. When do you want it to get here?”  
  
“I dunno, when can I have my bed made by?” He looks up again to smile innocently at her, and her face melts into _that look_ , the look that she’d used so many times in the course of their brief relationship. Women have so many looks. It’s scary that he’s starting to understand them all.  
  
“The Captain also wants to know if he can bring his motorcycle this time.”  
  
“He could use one of mine. I did fix up like _seven_ for him.”  
  
“He’s not going to ride around on anything with flames painted on it.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Also you can’t actually request that the flight attendants wear USO uniforms. They’re unionized-”  
  
“Pepper?” He says, putting his dusty gloved hands on the sides of her stockinged legs because he’s too lazy to stand and also because if he touches the Armani dress she’ll probably chop his arms off.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Just tell me when he gets here.” She sighs one last time and turns to walk away, but just before she climbs the few stairs to leave the room, she stops, looks back at him again, and says, “It’s good to see you happy.” She shakes her head fondly. “You’re like a little boy at Christmas.”  
  
It does feel like Christmas, or what Christmas should have been like for him as a child. This is Christmas in July, basically.  
  
Tony meets him on the landing strip. Usually he has a driver pick Steve up, but this time he wants to make a good impression. Hence, he’s also dressed in his finest suit. Blocking his eyes from the sun, he watches as Steve steps off the plane, backed by what seems to be the whole crew, male and female alike, who are all waving goodbye and who all seem to be more than a little bit in love. It seems like he’s only brought one thing, a medium sized army duffel bag that he has thrown over his shoulder.  
  
At the sight of him Tony feels…something. A little bit lighter, you could say, like when he takes off the Iron Man suit.  
  
“That all you brought?” he asks Steve when he gets closer. “For three days?” Seems like they both don’t know whether a handshake or a hug is more appropriate, so they just stand there staring at each other.  
  
“And my bike,” Steve replies.  
  
Tony scoffs. “We’ve got to take you shopping.”  
  
So it’s the first thing they do after dropping Steve’s single bag into the back seat and climbing into the Audi. He spends a while driving extraordinarily fast along the coast (until Steve reminds him of the speed limit), hoping to show Steve a bit more of California than usual. Steve admits that he’d only been to the state once on his national tour in the 40s, and the other times he’d visited he’d basically just been at Tony’s place. Tony realizes now that he should have probably at least have had Happy take Cap around for some sightseeing, but Tony doesn’t have much experience being a host (at least not the type of hosting that doesn’t involve over a hundred people and professional catering), and Steve had never asked.  
  
“Isn’t it weird to have winter styles out already?” he asks, when they stop at one of Tony’s regular ritzy stores. “Besides, I already have a coat. ”  
  
“Yeah, _one_ coat. My point exactly.”  
  
They’re getting some strange looks. Tony’s pretty sure the employees would be pulling a Pretty Woman routine and scoffing at Steve’s simple clothes if he’d tried to go there by himself, unaccompanied by one of the richest men in the world. He doesn’t know if that should reflect badly on his lifestyle in general.  
  
“Listen, I grew up in the depression. We didn’t have a lot of stuff. This is…kind of surreal. I’m really fine, Tony, I don’t need anything else.”  
  
Okay, so maybe shopping isn’t the best idea.  
  
Later on he tries to impress Steve again with food, three thousand dollars worth of food to be exact, at the finest restaurant in town. Called ahead and booked the whole place privately, of course, so Steve wouldn’t have to adhere to the dress code. Not that he doesn’t want to see Cap break out the dress uniform once in a while, but he’s not sure if it was even in the realm of possibility for it to fit in that tiny bag.  
  
“I’ve never tried most of those things before, but it was pretty good,” Steve says afterwards, and even after all of Tony’s efforts chooses (insists) to sleep on the couch. But at least Tony can now see the couch from the bedroom. It’s a start.  
  
By the time JARVIS wakes Tony up in the morning, telling him that Stark Industries stocks have risen and that it’s going to be ridiculously sunny, Steve has already gone for a run, showered, gotten fully dressed and fixed breakfast (“I wasn’t sure what you eat, but I made you some toast and eggs.” Tony can totally get on board with this). He’s dressed in a simple checkered shirt and plain brown pants. The rest of his clothes are still neatly folded in his bag, not unexpected for an army guy. It also appears that he’s washed all the dishes himself, even the ones in the dishwasher. With his hands. Who _does_ that?  
  
Anyway, it being noon already, Tony decides to take Cap to Disneyland. Actually, he’d planned to buy out as big a section as possible for their own private use, until Pepper reminded him that Steve would probably absolutely hate it without people; that, as much as Tony can’t grasp it, people are required for the happy atmosphere and all. Thankfully, Goddess that she is, she does hire a few goons to dissuade most of the tabloid press, so he and Steve manage to fly pretty much under the radar in the end.  
  
Tony comes to realize many things at Disneyland, like the fact that someone can fight Nazis on a train heading through the mountains at death defying speeds and still somehow be scared of Space Mountain.  
  
“You don't want to hear about Coney Island,” Steve says afterwards in a tone that implies he doesn't want to elaborate, looking green. Soon after, Captain America the hero comes out again and he puts his brave face back on to pat some kid (who seems to be having as much trouble as the 220 pound man with keeping his French fries in his stomach after the ride) on the shoulder and say, "Hey kiddo, you did good."  
  
He feels that feeling again in his chest and wonders why he ever thought Disney without people would be a good idea.  
  
It doesn’t result in sex though (Should he just trash the sofa? Seriously, it’s doing him absolutely no favours), but there’s one more day left and he doesn’t lose hope.  
  
The next morning, while shoving cold pizza in his mouth, Tony suggests they get a private section of beach, and it’s totally not just because he wants to see Steve’s body in only swimming trunks (preferably the teeniest of speedos), really, it isn’t. But when he does this, Steve turns to him with a serious-Pepper-Potts-face and says,  
  
“You don’t have to _buy_ everything. I just want to spend time with you.”  
  
“Beach is spending time,” he defends. “It’s the best way to spend time, you don’t even have to do anything but swim and sit in the chair.”  
  
“But we only have one day left. Can’t we go out on a date? You know, the old-fashioned way? I can take you out somewhere.”  
  
“A Captain America date. I can do that. Is it going to involve patriotism? I’m a huge patriot, I vote Republican every time.” Steve’s mouth sets in a frown.  
  
“Pepper said you were busy, so maybe I can meet you later on at your workplace?”  
  
“I’m busy?” he asks, with genuine surprise.  
  
Steve shakes his head at him and rolls his eyes a little. “I’ll come by later to the office.”  
  
So Tony ends up going to work. Steve’s such a killjoy.  
  
It’s around 3:30 (well, not _around_ , with Steve it’s _exactly_ 15:30 hours, let’s be real) when Steve shows up at the office. It’s such a quiet, polite entrance that Tony doesn’t notice him come in until Pepper looks up at the door and her face suddenly lights up.  
  
She's never looked at Tony like that – like she’s actually impressed. Then he sees why.  
  
“Oh god, he dressed up," Tony says, and trust Steve to take that as a compliment. They did that in the Forties, dressed up for things. It was cool. Gnarly. Hip. Whatever the hell they called shined shoes and a pressed shirt tucked properly into pressed pants back in the day. The bashful look takes over his face and his smile widens slightly.  
  
Jesus.  
  
Tony hadn’t really bothered to dress up today, seeing as they’ve passed first impression stage by this round of dating, so he's still in an old Black Sabbath T-shirt and a shabby pair of jeans. Come to think of it he usually only dresses up for business, not for things he really cares about. Has he ever had a date that didn’t have at least a little to do with business? Maybe this is actually the first time the two things haven’t crossed paths. Steve doesn't seem to mind, though, going by the appreciative look he’s sporting.  
  
Again, it feels weird not to have to try to be appreciated. He shrugs off the strange feeling.  
  
“Ms. Potts,” Steve nods to Pepper politely.  
  
“Captain Rogers,” she says, with a flirty subtextual undertone that he's so rarely heard from She-of-high-standards. Tony huffs.  
  
“Yeah, Pep, hold the fort will you? I'll continue with...whatever it is when I get back.” Pepper turns to look at him incredulously. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. He’s just implied that he was actually participating in the work and not sitting with his feet on top of her desk, pestering her for attention like a spoiled Chihuahua. He should stop messing around with women who’ve been wearing stilettos all day. Fortunately, Pepper cares about him deep down, and maybe that’s why she lets it slide just this once. Bless her. ‘Pay raise,’ he mentally notes. ‘One of those two hundred dollar perfect melons from Japan, definitely not strawberries.’ See? He's remembering; he can do this. He can do relationships.  
  
“You open doors too?” Tony asks, when Steve chivalrously holds the door for him as they leave. “What else do you do?”  
  
“Play your cards right and I'll show you later,” Steve replies.  
  
Tony points at him, throwing him a proud look. “You're learning.”  
  
Together they enter the hot summer air and walk to Steve’s motorcycle, which is parked outside. Tony looks around because it’s entirely too quiet; is there some kind of Avengers business going on? Then Steve looks at him and says, “Luckily for us, Thor has challenged the entire Brook-, sorry, Los Angeles Dodgers team to a baseball game. You'd be hard pressed to find a photographer that wants a ‘Tony Stark walking around’ picture today.”  
  
“I’m hurt.”  
  
“Plus, no one’s expecting you to be riding on the back of a motorbike driving off into the middle of nowhere. I get that that’s not your usual style.”  
  
“You calling me showy? I don’t call the paparazzi _every_ time.”  
  
“Sure,” Steve says, and Tony’s already starting to relax. He likes their witty banter; he’s good at witty banter, and Steve playing along bodes well for this dating business. Steve passes him a helmet and he climbs on behind the huge Captainy mass. He has to remember to keep his hands where they won’t be tempted to get up to anything indecent. It’s a struggle.  
  
“Where are we going, anyway?” he asks over the noise of start-up.  
  
“It’s a secret.”  
  
“That's what serial killers say,” he mutters to himself.  
  
They drive for a while, almost all the way back to Malibu, Tony looking wistful whenever they pass a doughnut shop. Eventually Tony’s thoughts are forced to settle down and he relaxes into Steve and just enjoys feeling the breeze as they travel. It’s really strange to not to be doing anything.  
  
The weather cools down a bit by the time they get to where they’re going. Steve takes a few smaller roads and then goes completely off-map on a path just big enough to ride on before he finally stops.  
  
It turns out to be what Tony would refer to as a lover’s point. Steve has totally brought him to a lover’s point.  
  
“Come on,” Steve calls to him and they walk up the hillside a bit. It’s kind of a rocky area, but there are more trees than usual to provide them with a bit of privacy and shade. It’s not an official lookout spot, but it’s just flat enough for the two of them to be comfortable. There’s a pretty nice view of the ocean.  
  
Steve is vibrating with excitement; he can almost feel it. Clearly the Captain does not know how much this kind of location has come up in both slasher films and cheesy romances during the time he’d been frozen. The naïveté of the location is kind of charming. Tony’s not going to say anything about it; he’s not going to let his mouth ruin things.  
  
“I’ve always wanted to take someone to a place like this, but obviously nobody would give me the time of day. I found it today while I was jogging.” He shows Tony the picture he took of the spot on his phone.  
  
“What do we do here, make out?” Tony jokes.  
  
“I...what?” Steve replies, freezing and beginning to flush heavily. Did Tony say something wrong already?  
  
“It means kissing. Did it mean something else in the forties?”  
  
“Uh yeah, a little. I thought...never mind. I'm not good with euphemisms.” This is true. Tony suspects that Steve actually understands the arc reactor better than modern slang. Being forced to watch reality TV with Coulson must be hell for him.  
  
“Is it like the fondue thing?”  
  
“You heard about that?” Steve cringes. “That was a long time ago.”  
  
“I think Thor got that one wrong too. Maybe it’s just a dirty sounding word. Then again, Thor thinks everything’s a euphemism. I blame Foster, personally. Never teach an alien god about vibrators before important things like world history.”  
  
“What’s ‘vibrators’?” Steve asks as he makes his inquisitive and puzzled scrunched up face.  
  
Riiight, they went underground in the twenties. “I’ll show you sometime.”  
  
As Steve sets about unpacking the things he brought in his _holy crap that is a real basket he’s made us an honest-to-god picnic_ , Tony’s phone beeps with a text from Pepper.  
  
 **Don’t stay out too late – JARVIS expects you home by midnight.**  
  
That isn’t really fair. Steve’s the one orchestrating today’s date, so really he should be going by Steve’s schedule if anything. He watches the man bend down to spread out a blue and red blanket across the flat bit of rock.  
  
 **Steve’s virtue intact** , she adds almost immediately. Now that’s just cruel, he thinks, but he supposes it’s true that they didn’t really _do_ sex on first dates in the 1940s. Not that that’ll stop him from trying.  
  
 ** _Slow_ , Tony**, comes the third message, as if she knows what he’s thinking. She probably does, he’s not that complicated. He sets the phone to vibrate.  
  
When Steve moves aside, Tony sees that he’s set out a bunch of containers of food. He was right; he’s made them a picnic dinner. Who _does_ that?  
  
“Clint suggested I bring McDonald's. I'm not sure if it was a joke, but it looked really unappetizing, so I decided to make dinner myself. Although, I’m not sure what you like. I should have asked Pepper, but I didn’t want to give away the surprise. I hope you don’t mind – it’s a bit simple. I grew up simple.” Tony can see that. It looks like a lot of normal food: sandwiches, some dish that looks like it’s made with eggs, not sure what that one is, some fruit and vegetable salad with beans and things, and what looks like grilled fish.  
  
When Tony wants simple he orders pizza. This is cool. “You can cook?” he asks.  
  
“Mom taught me a bit before she died. I can cook as well as any dame, I’d like to think.”  
  
“Don’t let Natasha hear you say that. I think she’s started three fires now at HQ just using the toaster. Pretty sure she’s banned from the kitchen.” Steve chuckles.  
  
“Well, we’d better eat before the sun goes.” He sits and Tony takes the spot beside him on the blanket. It’s close enough that Tony can feel Steve’s warmth. Cap runs hot. “These are for you,” Steve says softly, pushing some of the containers in his direction. Geez. It’s like getting a gift. A gift that he didn’t pay for himself. This is nuts.  
  
“Where’s all this from?” he asks.  
  
“Mostly your fridge,” Steve says.  
  
“I have fruit?” It’s genuinely shocking.  
  
Tony eats his food pretty quickly, and yeah, it’s good, like everything Cap does. His portion is so small compared to Steve’s, though, and for a moment he wants to ask if he thinks Tony’s a bird or a European or something, until he remembers that the man probably needs to eat like Thor because of the super strength and crazy metabolism. He's seen Thor easily eat an entire turkey by himself at Thanksgiving. He hopes Steve hasn’t been going hungry at dinner the past couple of days.  
  
Finishing first, he spends the rest of the time watching Steve eat his own food. Steve’s watching the ocean looking entirely at peace, his blond hair blowing in the wind. For a moment, Tony’s reminded of those old propaganda posters he used to keep in his room.  
  
Steve’s impossibly handsome.  
  
He wants to...  
  
A buzzing sound. **_Slow_ , Tony**.  
  
No, not just sex. He actually wants to kiss the guy, because he looks really kissable right now. Maybe there’s something to be said for this kind of date, where they can just sit, doing nothing but admiring the view. When Steve finally notices him staring out of the corner of his eye, the Captain begins to look vaguely embarrassed. The atmosphere between them is crackling with energy; he can feel it. Even the hair on his arms is almost standing on end.  
  
To get his thoughts moving in another direction, Tony stops staring and takes a deep breath of the fresh air, listening to the ambient noise of the brush around them, fingers twitching. He can see the Stark residence from here, lights on as the sun’s starting to go down. Maybe Pepper’s driven there, or maybe it’s JARVIS just being JARVIS.  
  
Things are, in fact, going very slowly on this date. There’s no alcohol, no fast cars, no fast machines, no fast women. It’s odd. It’s so quiet.  
  
Steve eventually packs away the leftovers in the same plastic containers. Then he moves a little closer to him. Their hands are almost touching, and he wonders if Steve is going to actually attempt to hold his hand.  
  
“Oh! Hang on,” Steve says suddenly, jumping up and walking back down to his bike, “I almost forgot.” He returns with a portable mini stereo, which is labeled with Bruce’s name. Hulk must label everything to find his belongings after he de-Hulks. Someday he’ll have to check Banner’s sneakers, and then he can make fun of it when he needs a wall smashed for quick renovations.  
  
Tony lets Steve fiddle around a while before he hears a frustrated noise and some kind of muttered statement about gramophones. He leans over on the blanket, so he can feel the heat again, close enough to Steve that the other man inhales a shaky breath.  
  
“Um…I…I can’t…” Steve explains. Tony looks at the iPod in his hands. It’s a hand-me-down from Clint, he sees (a little contemptuously if he’s honest – the Stark line of mp3 players is about three decades more user-friendly, stylish and intuitive).  
  
“I’ll do it.” If he just moved a little bit, he could kiss Steve. He hasn't felt this kind of tension in a long time. You don’t, really, when both parties are aware that it's a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of evening. “What song do you want?” he asks, with an unintentional huskiness.  
  
“Moonlight serenade, maybe?” Tony exits the settings and circles to the ‘M’s.  
  
“Glenn Miller?” Steve makes a small noise of affirmation. “You can put music this old on an iPod?” Tony asks, and Steve laughs, pulling him up by the hand to stand and move closer. It makes Tony feel very small. He’ll have to get used to that. He’s pulled in even closer as the music starts, the band playing a gentle rhythm.  
  
“Hey I know this one, I think. Maybe my mother played it a few times. Did Sinatra do a cover?”  
  
“How would I know?” Steve smiles, cuddling him closer. It’s like a hug. Hugs don’t happen to Tony, except when they’re from Pepper, and even then he’s often focused on other things – he can’t help it. Steve is so big, though, it kind of feels like he’s blocking out the world. Cool.  
  
“Touché,” Tony mumbles into the shoulder.  
  
“You know, I've always wanted to dance to this. I used to watch Bucky with the girls, how he was so good at getting them to dance with him. It looked so easy, but I could never manage. So I just thought I’d wait to share a dance with someone special, someone I could say I was going steady with.”  
  
“We're going steady,” he says. Actually he meant it to be a question, but it comes out as a statement instead.  
  
“Yeah.” Steve sounds pleased. Going steady. This is a good sign. Tony uses the celebratory opportunity to slip his hand down and onto Steve’s ass, but Steve simply pulls it up without a fuss and places it on his shoulder. “Oops,” the man says as if it’s his fault. Knowing Steve he probably actually thinks so. Unreal. “I’m kind of a dead hoofer.”  
  
“Huh?” Tony mutters.  
  
“Oh, sorry, I should have figured no one says that anymore. I mean, I can't really dance. I just thought I'd play it by ear when the time came.”  
  
“Looks like you’re doing fine to me. I’m pretty sure this is what passes as dancing these days.”  
  
“That’s sad.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Swaying back and forth is fun.”  
  
“Tony, stop talking,” he says, leaning his head into Tony’s. Then it’s quiet for a long time until the first song ends, and something else equally ancient sounding starts up in its place. “I was counting on Peggy to teach me how to dance,” Steve says off-handedly but slightly choked.  
  
Something about that hits Tony the wrong way. Suddenly the whole mood changes, at least on Tony’s side.  
  
Thing is, Peggy’s always been a sore spot. He’s read a lot about her, but other than their first meeting, they haven’t really broached the subject. In fact he’s not even sure if Steve has even really dealt with that loss, not that Tony _allowed_ him time to grieve properly. It’s just that Tony…he’s never liked being second best. It’s like Dad all over again.  
  
‘If he’s still hung up on some woman why’s he here?’ is what he thinks as Steve’s long fingers move from his back and sneak up into his hair. It should feel good, it does feel good, but something about his disappointment must show. Maybe it’s the lack of clever retort.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve says softly. “You must be bored.”  
  
“No,” he lies. “Not bored. Who said that?”  
  
“Well, we still have a bit of light left.” It’s sunset. It’s beautiful. Tony hates it. “I thought you might like to see my sketchbook. There are a couple of pictures I’ve been working on that I think you’ll like.” He releases Tony from the confines of his arms, and even though the evening is warm it now feels cold, for multiple reasons. A moment later he comes back with the sketchbook and draws Tony down to sit again.  
  
Strangely enough, Tony’s never really seen Steve’s art before, but then he realizes that he’s never asked to.  
  
“Clint,” Steve chuckles flipping to the first picture, but Tony’s face is dark. ‘Clint, who gives you hand-me-down iPods and sends you emails everyday,’ he thinks. ‘That Clint?’ In the picture, Hawkeye is shooting practice arrows at Black Widow. “They’re like little kids on a playground. He’s basically just pulling her pigtails, isn’t he?” Steve smiles fondly. Tony remembers that day too. Clint had had a few toes broken by Natasha, fingers spared only because Fury would have been too angry about losing the archery skills even temporarily. Steve managed to capture Natasha’s angry face incredibly well.  
  
Well, okay, so maybe Tony doesn’t have to be so envious that Clint sometimes likes showing Steve modern things too. It’s petty.  
  
“Here’s the neighbourhood I grew up in, then and now. Well, this is just from memory, but…that there was my favourite diner. I got beat up behind it all the time, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t have the best hamburgers I’ve ever tasted.” His tone is wistful. Steve getting beaten up? Hard to imagine, but he sort of can after seeing the pictures of him before the serum, and knowing that Steve wouldn’t ever back away from a fight. “It’s a Burger King now.”  
  
“Too bad.” He starts to wonder if there’s any accusation in that. After all, Steve doesn’t always like progress, and that’s all Stark Industries stands for – it doesn’t really matter what gets in the way, especially not ‘mom and pop’ diners.  
  
Are they really that mismatched?  
  
No, he needs to keep himself in check. He shouldn’t ruin it. This is a good chance to get to know Steve’s inner workings better. He’s a really fantastic artist.  
  
And then Steve flips to the next page, and it’s “Your dad.”  
  
There’s an awkward pause, before Tony finally says, "Lovely." He’s not sure if Steve detects the sarcasm. They haven’t really discussed this subject before either. The fact that Steve thinks of Howard Stark as some kind of ‘nice, friendly guy’ bothers the hell out of him.  
  
Steve looks at him just a little, tilting his head to the side like he wants to say something, looking a bit worried. Maybe he’s catching on. But he looks at Tony’s face, and then seems to decide to move on. There are a couple of landscape pictures after that. Tony’s front yard. One of Times Square, all product placement intact.  
  
Then Steve blushes furiously. “Lena Horne. She was an actress, from Brooklyn.” He flips a little too fast for Tony’s liking, so Tony catches the page mid-turn and puts it back.  
  
“Sexy,” Tony leers. Steve cringes uncomfortably and tries to put it back up, and then Tony’s _really_ annoyed. Does he have to compete with multiple dead women or only one? What is this? He can’t help it if that makes him get a bit catty. “It’s okay, Cap, you don’t have to hide. You’re allowed to find black women beautiful now, Obama’s president.” Okay, that was snarkier than he intended, of course he knows Captain America wouldn’t ever be intentionally racist or anything. Howling Commandos and all.  
  
Steve looks stricken. “That wasn't why...I didn't mean-”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“You know what,” Steve replies finally, “never mind.” As the book closes Tony catches a glimpse of what looks to be red and gold coloured pencil on some later pages, but Steve shuts down, face hard.  
  
They both sit in silence. Well, not really silence, because Tony's classic rock comes on next from the speakers – a blaring contrast to Steve’s smooth, classic big band. That’s Tony’s fault; he’d told Clint to introduce Steve to some real music.  
  
This is why dates are not a good idea. See? Tony was right all along.  
  
“Hey,” Steve says, clearly trying to salvage the mood. “I think the stars are starting to come out.”  
  
“Twenty-first century, buddy. Hard to see stars in America.”  
  
“Really? Even so far out?” he seems sad. “Well, then, we can just sit…and-”  
  
“And what? Listen, I have a morning conference call,” he deliberately takes out his phone and stands up, stretching, “with some partners in Dubai. With the time difference and all-”  
  
“Tony, I'm trying to make this work,” he says, following him up. As if Tony himself hasn’t been trying as well.  
  
“Make what work? What are we doing here, huh? Dancing? Sitting down? What is this?”  
  
“Will you get off my case? I thought you might like to get away from things for a while. If it’s not exciting enough for you we can go somewhere els-”  
  
“I'm not on your case, you're on your case.” _Good one, Tony._ “What the hell am _I_ doing?”  
  
“For crying out loud!” Suddenly Steve shrugs and shakes his head, before it seems to dawn on him. “Is this about Peggy? You know, it's hard to tell when you're being a jerk just because you want to be or if you're genuinely upset about something. Did I say something wrong?”  
  
“No, it couldn't possibly be because you're hung up over somebody who's been dead for years-”  
  
“I can't help it, Tony!” he finally snaps. Honesty, come on out. “It's only been a year! Do you know what it's like to wake up and see your girl’s obituary? I didn't even get to see her grow older! I thought we were going to be together, have a family. I can't just entirely forget about someone just because you've come along and I like you too.” There are tears forming in his eyes, and they annoy Tony more than anything. “You know I loved her.”  
  
“Of course you did,” he sneers. “Everyone loved everyone – it was war time. You never knew when you'd lose the chance to _get it in_ -”  
  
He feels the impact before he sees it coming.  
  
Fuck it hurts like hell. He’s still clutching his cheek, bent over and checking his bleeding nose as Steve stalks off back to his motorcycle, leaving the blanket and everything, sketchbook too. It makes Tony want to yell something about littering, and he probably would have if his face weren’t on fire. When Steve gets to the bottom of the hill, the big guy turns to him and starts up with a voice darker than he’s ever heard it, even when talking about Nazis, and he doesn’t want to think about what that says about _him_.  
  
“I’m a gentleman, so I won’t drive off and just leave you here, but _by god_ I want to.”  
  
“I can call the armour. You forget I'm Iron Man?”  
  
Then there’s only dust in his face and a fading motorcycle roar.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, Pepper _had_ driven home to wait up for him that night. More accurately, she had waited up for Steve. Honestly, he thinks, Steve is over ninety years old now and has super strength; he doesn’t need a protector. Nevertheless, he’s glad she’s there – for both the company and the ice pack she applies to his face.  
  
“That well, huh?” she asks, not even looking surprised.  
  
Amazing woman that she is, she hangs out with him while he sulks on his sofa. He needs that ego boost, because he’d looked incredibly stupid flying through the air with a blanket stuffed with Tupperware and a sketchpad. All the things from the date are in a messy pile in the middle of the room. When she’s sure his nose isn’t broken, Pepper goes to pick up Steve’s sketchbook and sits next to him to flip through it.  
  
“Aww, look at this one,” she coos. “Wow, he really sees something special in you. There’s so much more detail here than in the other ones. Your eyes look so intense. No offense, Tony, but I really don’t think your hair looks this good in real life.”  
  
It makes him feel like an even bigger asshole, but Pepper tells him he’s not allowed to drink just to feel better about that, and she spends the rest of the evening with her head on his shoulder.  
  
At times like these he remembers why he actually does need friends.  
  
*  
  
So, basically, Tony Stark fucks up absolutely everything.  
  
He’s ruined both sex and the brief attempt at dating. What’s left? What else can they even do? Were they even friends, or was it all just a function of necessity and SHIELD orders? They’d pretty much done everything in reverse order, come to think of it. Maybe that’s why it was doomed from the beginning.  
  
Tony flies to headquarters the next day. Before he leaves Pepper does a hasty concealer job on the swollen side of his face to cover up the blue, but he still has to hide his eyes behind his favourite go-to pair of hangover-ready oversized Prada sunglasses.  
  
Nick Fury glares at him when he walks in (probably because he’s late or maybe just because he’s Tony), one eye rolling in his head at the sight of him before he begins to talk about the next mission. Tony collapses into his spot at the end of the large table. While everyone else listens intently, he obsesses over how Steve is purposely not looking at him at all, not even in his general direction.  
  
Even after the meeting, when everyone’s usually excited about food, the atmosphere is surprisingly sombre. Clint has a brief conversation with him that’s very hush hush in which he asks what happened in Malibu, and Tony replies “What happens in Malibu stays in Malibu,” so Clint tells him to stop being a dick and that’s the end of it. Bruce is looking at him and Steve like he knows something went wrong as well, but at least he’s not saying ‘I told you so.’ Natasha, meanwhile, just hates him all the time, so no change there.  
  
Even Thor isn’t eating, but in his case it probably has nothing to do with Tony. The Asgardian stands when everyone else does (Steve is quick to escape) and chooses a random spot in the corner to sigh and stare at. He looks a bit like a large, slightly foolish and abandoned golden retriever. Tony’s never seen him like that outside of when the _Rock Band_ game tells the Asgardian he’s completely tone-deaf.  
  
So Tony decides to talk to him.  
  
“What’s eating you?” he says. God, now he’s even talking like Steve.  
  
“Loki,” Thor murmurs back at him.  
  
“Uh huh. Not literally I hope, I never know with you people.”  
  
“I love him.”  
  
Tony’s silent for a moment. “Um…okay.” Pretty creepy development, but Tony’s fucked twins before, so he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on with that one.  
  
“No, Man of Iron, you misunderstand. I do not love him as I would a lover. Soon I will ask to be wed to my fair Jane, and if I succeed I would be devastated if my brother were not by my side on that happy day. If only he could see that my love is beyond the bounds of blood. I am not my father; there is enough room in my heart for a brother I have always known. I know that he is of the same mind; why does he fight it?”  
  
“Some people are like that. They just can’t handle being loved. So they fill the Great Lakes with giant Asgardian dragon things.” Or behave like Tony, the annoying voice in his head reminds him, but that’s a story for another time – like never.  
  
“What went wrong for you, friend?” Thor asks, after another final sigh. “You and Captain Rogers have been uneasy since your return.”  
  
“What? No, nothing,” he replies, evasively. No feelings talk. “Not getting into that one.” Thor doesn’t take it personally, of course.  
  
Afterwards, he’s supposed to head down to R &D to consult with some scientists about some kind of new information sharing thing with Stark Industries or whatever (he’d been too busy moping about Steve to read the notes), but he decides that he’d much rather put that off. Soon, he finds that he’s meandered over to the familiar place where he used to train with his ex-friend.  
  
He needs to fix this habit of his, this ‘wandering off to subconscious wants that he is trying to avoid’ thing.  
  
He also needs to fix things with Steve.  
  
And yeah, Cap’s there, as expected. Only Cap – the room is often empty except for the two of them, despite the number of muscled heroes around. The ‘thump, thump, thump’ of Steve taking out his frustrations on the Stark-reinforced punching bag with more gusto than usual echoes in the large open space. Naturally, he hasn’t even broken a sweat, his white shirt still pristine and clinging loosely to his skin. Tony watches him move for a moment – the door doesn’t make much noise and Steve must be too occupied with his own thoughts to notice him. It’s not until he finally stops and Tony moves to leave that Steve turns around.  
  
They look at each other. Steve can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he can see Steve’s, and they look more miserable than anything. There’s also a bit of anger and guilt mixed in there too, darkening the bright blue. The man stops, lowers his head, unwraps his hands, and waits for Tony to walk over. Never one to start conflict.  
  
“I'm sorry I hit you,” Steve says first thing when Tony gets in range, soldier voice back on. “It was unacceptable. It won't happen again.”  
  
“I deserved it.” Steve can’t argue with that, though Tony thinks he looks like he almost wants to. There’s really no excuse for Tony speaking so disrespectfully about somebody who was probably a fantastic person.  
  
Tony then swings his shoulder bag to the front of his body so he can dig around in it. “Here, thought you might want your stuff back.” He takes out Steve’s sketchbook. God, it’s like a high school break up, like he’s bringing back a cardboard box full of random junk he’s been keeping in his room.  
  
“Thanks,” Steve says, taking it back and holding it close to himself.  
  
“Well…I’m going to go,” Tony says, just like Steve on that very first night.  
  
“Can I just ask you something?” Steve calls. Tony pauses. “Why do you keep trying to push me away?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean…it seemed like you were just looking for a way out. Like…you like me but you don’t want to, so you try to find any reason you can so that you don’t have to like me. It’s confusing. Maybe the first time was my fault, but I wanted us to work out after that. I’m trying. The forties weren’t exactly…well, you couldn’t do this openly at all. But they say there’s no problem with it now, so...I just don’t understand why.” Steve shrugs; he’s not the most eloquent speaker out there. At least, not when it’s not a stirring speech about America being awesome.  
  
“I honestly don’t know myself,” Tony replies with finality after a moment of thought. It’s true, he doesn’t. Why _is_ he so dysfunctional?  
  
Steve sighs, “All right,” like he’s taken Tony’s unintentional hint to just give up.  
  
That hurts. It hurts a lot, actually. Christ, he thinks there might actually be a bit of fog starting to cloud his eyes, and he rapidly blinks it away. Thankfully he’s got sunglasses. Sunglasses are a fucking fabulous invention.  
  
“Oh and, uh,” Tony finally manages to say (after a truly embarrassing gulp-filled pause), “I got this for you too.” He reaches a hand into his right pocket and wraps his fingers around the thing. Even now he feels the urge to keep it, but… “Here.”  
  
Steve makes a choked noise when he realizes what it is, a barely audible “Oh.”  
  
He can’t bear to look at Steve’s face, but he hopes Steve has figured out that this is the Stark version of an apology, because Starks verbally say sorry about as much as they say please.  
  
“They found it in the things from the expedition and I had it restored. Called in a few photograph restoration specialists from The Met.” He’d had it restored within the first few days, actually, but by then he’d already wanted Steve all to himself, so he’d pretended to forget about it. “I remembered it from one of your old film reels. I was going to give it to you ages ago, but…” _I was jealous._ He watches Steve fondle the open compass in his hands disbelievingly, running his thumb over the small picture inside. “She’s pretty,” he says finally, in an off-hand manner.  
  
“Thank you,” Steve says, looking at him with tears in his eyes. Tony’s not sure if it’s over the gesture or the girl, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter now. Then Steve narrows his eyes at him. “You…you surprise me, you know. All the time.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s no good to not have memories.”  
  
And then Steve gives the photograph a final fond look, closes the compass, and focuses back on Tony and his injured face.  
  
That moment – that tiny, simple moment – makes him start to realize what an idiot he’s been. He never needed to compete with Peggy. Steve’s always had room for him in there anyway. He’s pretty much always been a Thor-ish kind of guy with a heart big enough for more than one person.  
  
Tony takes off his sunglasses so he can look at Steve properly in the light, and Steve tries for a small smile before putting the compass and sketchbook down carefully on the floor by the crash mat.  
  
“Let’s just work on being friends,” Steve says, after another quiet moment.  
  
“Are we still friends?”  
  
“Of course we are,” he sounds hurt. What did Tony ever do to deserve these people who keep sticking by him when he messes things up? At least he hasn’t lost Cap completely.  
  
“Good. By the way, I just had your shield repainted as a back up plan just in case you ended up not liking this. You can thank me later,” he quips, but Steve isn’t listening. One of his hands is busy moving up to Tony’s face.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says again, stroking his thumb over Tony’s cheek tenderly, most likely smudging Pepper’s cover-up job.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” He should probably leave now before he does something horrible to ruin their ‘friendship’. But as he starts to turn, Steve grabs the sleeve of his suit jacket and pulls him close, gently, the hand not on his face going up behind his ear and into his hair and _oh_.  
  
It’s been ages since he’s been kissed without tongue.  
  
Steve holds it there until Tony relaxes. It’s their first kiss, come to think of it. Even that first night out, Tony hadn’t…wow, he hadn’t even kissed Steve, just gone straight for the goods. What was he thinking? No wonder Cap bolted like Thor from a hospital.  
  
Then Steve tries again, and this time Tony deepens the kiss, moving his own hands up to those muscular arms. Steve’s inexperienced, yeah, that’s pretty obvious, but gentle. The Captain makes a soft sound as Tony’s tongue works its way into his mouth, responding with a kind of tentative enthusiasm. Only Steve Rogers could manage that.  
  
It’s weird, but good.  
  
“Damn,” Tony whispers as they break apart, the soft, wet sound making the blood rush straight downward. So much for being friends.  
  
“I really wanted that to happen yesterday,” Steve says, a little breathless and a bit triumphant.  
  
“Do I get to first base every time I take a punch?” he asks without thinking, and then Steve is pulling away with a heartbroken, “ _Oh, Tony._ ”  
  
"Look, I can't control my mouth, okay?” he whines, pulling Steve back into his arms. “It's just me. Nothing going on between here and here." He circles his brain and mouth with a finger. It’s really best if he doesn’t talk. He covers Steve’s lips with his own again, this time with more feeling, pressing his body against the larger one.  
  
Cap’s equally eager.  
  
Before either of them can think about why this isn’t a good idea, Tony shrugs off his shoulder bag and lets it drop to the floor along with his sunglasses as he backs Steve down against the floor. The larger man pretty much lets himself be pushed down to the training mat, and lets Tony climb over him like they’re two teenagers fumbling around in the school gym after-hours after they’ve diverted the janitor.  
  
Is this actually going to happen?  
  
He certainly wants it to, so he shouldn’t take it too fast. Not like the first time. Actually, he doesn’t know how far he will get, but he’ll take anything. But even with his restraint it’s hot and heavy, and the kissing gets even more frantic until it’s almost past the point where both parties (under normal circumstances) should be aware that there’s going to be some dirty business to follow. He’s not sure how that situation translates in Steve’s brain. Tony doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret later, or to have to stop once Steve remembers they’re _in the training room_ , so he moves his lips down to Steve’s neck and tries to quell his growing erection.  
  
“I like you,” Steve starts to babble when his mouth is released. “I think,” Tony briefly captures the smooth lips again, “I’m pretty sure I love you, god knows why.”  
  
“Romantic.”  
  
“N-” another kiss, “-o, I mean, I didn’t mean…just, well, I wouldn't-” Tony’s aim is slightly off-target and his mouth lands half on Steve’s chin, tasting the slightest hint of salt and feeling the beginnings of stubble, “I wouldn't just do this with just anybody.”  
  
 _Hallelujah! Captain Rogers is on board and ready. We have confirmation. Tony Stark is going to get laid._  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Fast as lightning, Tony’s hands go up to shed his jacket and hurriedly undo his tie as he straddles Steve just a bit tighter. Steve’s already got a nice flush going on, looking a bit like a chili pepper, and _god_ he can’t wait to get that annoying white shirt off and see how far down the colour goes.  
  
Steve watches, riveted, as Tony’s fingers find and deftly begin to undo the buttons of his own crisp, white shirt. It looks almost like Steve wants to look away because it’s the decent thing to do but he can’t quite manage. It’s a nice ego boost, not that Tony needs it. When Tony gets stuck on the cufflinks, Steve helps him with fumbling fingers, and then the warm hands are brushing over the arc reactor and the bare skin of his chest. He pushes into them, before remembering to shove the clothes far enough away on the floor so that Steve won’t see them and consider properly folding them. Just to be safe.  
  
Maybe he doesn’t have to be so careful about that. Tony can feel, when he pushes his hips down, that Steve has been just as affected as he is by this turn of events. And damn, Cap’s a big boy. Not that he didn’t know this before, but he hasn’t exactly seen it fully ready for action. Steve sucks in a breath, and Tony catches his mouth with his again.  
  
There’s a clink as Tony makes hasty work of his own belt, then he starts working on Steve’s clothes. A clumsy moment occurs when Steve’s white shirt gets stuck on the way off, but even then Tony can’t resist taking advantage of all the new bare skin under his fingers until Steve makes a noise of complaint and Tony finally helps him out of it. How the hell he thought he would survive the beach without jumping all over this guy he has no idea. He spreads his fingers wide over the broad chest, thumbs running over perked nipples, before he’s forced to use his hands to pull off the rest of his clothes. Steve seems a little reluctant to undo his own simple brown pants, so Tony just tugs them right down along with the underwear. At almost the same time, Steve looks down and sees Tony and stares, wide-eyed.  
  
“Come on, nothing you haven’t seen before,” he says in his best bedroom voice, and Steve lets out a tormented groan. Tony returns to kissing Steve’s neck to hear more of the heated sounds. “You can touch me, you know,” he whispers when he reaches Steve’s ear again.  
  
Steve’s large hands move over his arms and up to his shoulders. Not at all where Tony wants the hands to be, but whatever, he’s busy and occupied with Steve in all his naked glory so it’s no big deal. Looking down, he sees that everything really does grow proportionally when you get super-serum.  
  
Lucky bastard.  
  
Kissing his way back down again, he follows the trail of faint blond hair leading to his goal. And God, it feels so good to wrap his hand around Steve, to feel the hot, heavy length in his hand. Steve’s already standing at attention, leaking and wet, and Tony slides his fingers over the head and down, clenching his fist tighter. The slick sound it makes is positively obscene, and he hears a sucked-in breath. Suddenly, he has the overwhelming urge to taste, even just briefly. The full-service Tony Stark experience will have to wait until next time, _if_ there’s a next time.  
  
Steve stares down at him as he lets go, placing his fingers on the sides of Steve’s legs, feeling the light, soft hair against his hands. “Relax,” he says, and then he takes Steve into his mouth. The air positively rushes out of Steve at the feeling. Almost immediately, the muscles under his hands tense up, probably a sign that Cap’s struggling against the instinct to thrust. He licks confidently a few times, takes Steve as far into is throat as he can manage, but he can already see telltale signs of it being too much for Steve, like the fact that his pulse is pounding so hard Tony can literally feel it under his hands and tongue, and that Steve seems to be having some serious trouble simply breathing.  
  
They really need to get to the even better stuff, he thinks, pulling off with a slightly regretful grunt of his own. Man, he can’t wait to do that again. Funnily enough, Steve doesn’t even complain when he stops like most of his partners would. He just looks aroused and mind-boggled and a little bit confused. “Come on,” Tony says. “You think that’s the main event?” Tony asks, stretching to grab the leg of his discarded pants to pull them over so he can dig into the pocket. Never let it be said that Tony Stark comes unprepared.  
  
Steve’s hands move across Tony’s collarbones as if they want to explore him further, but the touch is light and unsure. Yet even that is setting Tony off.  
  
He has got to have this guy right now. Right fucking now. Even if he still has his socks on.  
  
Bingo, he thinks, finding a condom. Steve looks at it and then back up to his face with a bit of apprehension.  
  
“Tony, what do I do-”  
  
“Shh,” he says, pushing Steve back and tearing the package with his teeth before rolling it snugly on Steve before the man can ask any more questions. “You stay right there. Not having you…you don’t want your first time to be in a training room without soft pillows and lube, trust me on this one.”  
  
He’s looking questioning and a bit scared. “Won’t it hurt? I don’t know-”  
  
“Just take your own advice and stop talking.”  
  
Tony wets two of his fingers in his own mouth, then reaches back and tries to prep himself as best he can. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but not so long that he’s become unaccustomed or anything. He would prefer it if they had actual lube to make use of, but at least the condom is lubricated. “Get them wet,” he says, grabbing Steve’s right hand with his unoccupied one and putting it to the man’s own mouth, and _oh wow that is the single hottest thing he has ever seen_ , and he feels the urge to just let Steve keep sucking his own fingers before he remembers he needs to be using them to try to get the condom a bit wetter.  
  
Still going to be a pretty tight fit though.  
  
Too tight, he realizes, when he tries to sink slowly down on Steve and Steve’s mouth falls open in what must be shock before he bites his lip and makes this noise like he’s dying. At least he knows not to move. Tony pushes down further, and Steve’s eyes clench tightly shut. ‘Concentrate,’ he thinks with a bit of a wince. It’s raw enough for him to really feel it – now and probably for the next week – but he can't bring himself to care. Rough is fine. He needs this.  
  
“Fuck…” he finally grinds out with the effort. Steve opens his eyes to looks at him and starts to move in protest, but Tony shoves a hand to his chest. “No, you just stay there, don’t you dare - I’m good. I’m good, I can take it. I’m Iron Man.” Steve’s too far-gone to find him funny. Tony inhales a few shaky breaths then too, as well, awkwardly arranging his legs and hoisting one further up so he can sink further down. The one hand he has balancing him on the mat is starting to get a bit sweaty and slippery, and the other hand is firmly planted on Steve’s shoulder. He pushes down a bit more and Steve moves up to meet him, leans up a bit to pull him a little closer, and…there we go, all the way.  
  
“Okay, Cap,” he says, breathlessly, “ninety-something year old virgin…ex-virgin…how’s it feel?” Steve’s response is unintelligible. The Captain’s already trembling, his hands digging in tightly where they press against Tony’s skin. He doesn’t know how long Steve will last. Probably not long. He hopes to god there’s a next time so Steve can enjoy it more. Something like a relaxing morning fuck on Tony’s huge comfortable bed, that would be nice. Maybe he can even try to get some dirty talk out of the guy. But this right now is just a primal, desperate attempt at release. “Steve,” he breathes, as he rocks just right and manages to slide against the spot. Success. Then he starts to move in earnest.  
  
“Good?” he can’t help but ask again. Steve moans. He takes that as a yes, and tries to speed up. The tight fit’s loosening up now, and damn, it’s great. Really great. The big guy literally feels so fucking huge.  
  
“Oh God-” Steve chokes out, at last. “Oh _God_.” It’s pretty clear he’s already close.  
  
“Oh Jesus,” says Banner, as he opens and closes the door.  
  
“Oh Christ,” Steve cries, suddenly high and stifled, and he sits up so Tony’s almost sitting in his lap. It’s a strange position, but Steve is strong. Makes it feel a little odd inside, but he’s really more worried about Steve more than himself at the moment. That’s a first for this kind of thing. Steve pulls him closer until they look like a couple on the cover of an erotic novel, pushes into him further before letting out a distressed whimper like he’s done all he possibly can to hold on.  
  
“I gotcha-” Tony grits out encouragingly into the clean blond hair, and Steve shakes against him, makes a suffocated sound, and comes apart. Not a few seconds later when he starts struggling for breath again, he’s saying “I'm sorry,” hot and wet against his neck, “I'm sorry, Tony, I’m s-” but Tony cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. Tony grinds into Steve as much as he can, letting out a desperate groan, then finally takes one of Steve’s hands, strong and calloused from throwing that stupid shield around all the time, and wraps it around his cock. It doesn't take long, even with the way too careful grip – six or seven of the guided strokes maybe, because just looking at Cap's dazed face, eyes glassy and cheeks post-coital pink is _so fucking hot_ that he’s gonna-  
  
He can’t even form Steve’s name, but it’s the first thing he thinks, the only thing he thinks to be honest, before he feels the rush of release between his legs. The force of it blinds him momentarily. Tony Stark loses everything for a moment. Absolutely everything. It’s glorious. And Steve is with him all the way, holding him steady and close, and he’s never felt more like he’s not alone before in his entire life.  
  
When the fog finally clears, he drops his damp forehead to Steve’s, and his lips try to find Cap’s swollen, moist ones. When he gets his aim right, he lets his tongue stroke languidly against Steve’s as he spends the last few shudders in his arms. Slowly, clumsily, they drop back to the mat.  
  
“Hnngh,” Tony sighs in blessed relief.  
  
“Are…are you okay?” comes the voice below him, hoarse.  
  
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Tony replies. “On second thought, no, you should totally ask me that. I feel like you just devirginized me. I think it was all the dating.” Steve looks at him, befuddled, before a hearty laugh begins to bubble out of him. Orgasms are good on the guy then, it seems. Tony vows to do his part for his country and endeavor to give Steve a lot more in the future. This is a great look on golden boy.  
  
To be honest, Tony’s tired and he wants to stay just like he is, on top of Steve in the stupid mostly empty room under the soft yellow basement lighting. But he can’t; he knows that. They should probably get out of the potentially public eye sometime. Also, he should, at some point, hack into the security feed for the room.  
  
Or not – he has a reputation as a fantastic lover to maintain, after all. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s been caught on camera.  
  
Reluctantly, Tony eases off of Steve and his (his what? Partner? Lover? Boyfriend?) pulls his legs up gawkily to cover himself. ‘Come on,’ Tony thinks, amused at the man’s shyness, ‘nothing I haven’t seen before…in the past ten minutes.’ Tony grabs his white shirt, now wrinkled, and sits on his knees as he tries to fix himself up and re-do his tie. Steve sets about taking care of the condom, eyes still half-lidded and hair mussed. It’s kind of funny to see Captain America looking so debauched and well-fucked.  
  
He can’t help but go back in for a final kiss, which Steve meets readily. It’s sweet.  
  
“Can we do it again?” Steve whispers when they break apart, and he’s looking at Tony with stars in his eyes like Tony’s a human embodiment of the American flag. It’s so freaking eager.  
  
“Hah!” Tony grins, victorious. He breaks out his handkerchief when he gets his jacket back and wipes the remnants of his orgasm from Steve’s abdomen. “We’ll make a pervert out of you yet.” Knowing super soldier boy he probably needs zero recovery time, but alas, Tony’s over forty and Steve wasn’t exactly small. And holy hell it’s starting to hurt now – having lube would have really been a great idea. But he would if he could. He _really_ would. Steve catches on by searching his face. Like he said to Tony once, he may be optimistic, but he isn’t stupid.  
  
“Well, it’ll be better next time,” Steve says, pulling Tony close again and oh that feels good, how’d he know to put his hands on Tony’s lower back and rub _just so_? “I know I wasn’t spectacular-”  
  
“It was good,” Tony reassures him, and it’s surprisingly honest. “It was really good.” Steve smiles shyly.  
  
“So, we’re going steady…again.” There’s a bit of a question to it.  
  
“Guess so. I can do that. You sure you’re up for this thing here? Us? Together? I’m really annoying.”  
  
“Just let me love you please, Tony,” he says, drawing his half-naked body close. “Stop talking for once and just let me love you.”  
  
“I think I can do that,” he says, and this time there’s nothing witty or joking behind it.  
  
This time, it truly comes from the heart.  
  
*  
  
So, in the end, one could say that Tony Stark, the biggest fuck up in the history of time, eventually managed to botch up the friendship part of his relationship with Steve Rogers as well. However, in this case, he’s not really going to complain.  
  
Dr. Banner might, though.


End file.
